Chapter 4

The grand opera house had finally exhaled. The heavy, velvet curtains that separated the stage from the wings were drawn shut, and the echo of the final aria had long since faded into the hollow, echoing belly of the building. The air still hummed with the residual energy of a thousand applause claps, but now it was just the low, rhythmic thrum of the heating systems and the distant, muffled footsteps of the cleaning crew moving through the marble corridors. I had managed to secure our private box, a gilded cage suspended high above the empty seats, but the allure of the shadows had pulled me down. We were no longer performing for an audience of peers and patrons; we were retreating into the backstage reality of the venue, a labyrinth of red velvet and gold trim that smelled of old dust, expensive perfume, and anticipation. We had found our sanctuary in a narrow alcove just off the main corridor leading to the dressing rooms. It was a space designed for storage, cluttered with stacked chairs draped in white linen and rolls of heavy crimson curtain fabric, but the lighting was dim, cast by a single, flickering sconce that cast